


Escapologist Bethany

by fallowthought



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallowthought/pseuds/fallowthought
Summary: Anders stages a fake relationship, Bethany masters the art of escaping, and Fenris reveals a hidden sentimental side.





	Escapologist Bethany

Sometime in the early stages of his acquaintance with the Hawke clan, Anders comprised _A List of Reasons Not to Get Involved with Bethany Hawke_. The List went as followed:

  1. Bethany was a sweet young woman. Too sweet for someone like him, really.
  2. Marian would have him skewered on her sword long before he’d get to skewer her baby sister.
  3. It would be unjust of him: Bethany clearly confused their quasi-parental relationship with romantic attachment. On that note, Anders _could have been_ her parent if he’d started early (he had).
  4. Cut him to ribbons, without hesitation, brandishing around that monstrous hatchet of hers.
  5. But not before a grueling session of torture.
  6. Anders was obviously not destined for love and happiness.
  7. She would make her “I’m so disappointed in you” face first.



And so on. _The List_ , wrapped up with colorful descriptions of various dismemberment techniques, was safely tucked away under Anders’ Manifesto on his desk—it served as a perfect hiding spot because nobody except him ever read the blighted thing. Whenever Bethany praised his stance on magi freedom, or lingered in the clinic a bit too long after the closing, or pressed into his side when assisting with patients, Anders took a deep breath and sternly reminded himself of _The List_.

Not that it was doing him any good, now that Bethany was slowly backing him into a wall with a determined glint in her eyes.

“Bethany, I’m twice your age,” Anders tried.

“I’m an old soul,” Bethany shot back.

“I live in the sewers. I am as poor as a Chantry mouse!”   

“We’ll have enough coin for us both after the expedition.” Bethany edged closer. “And Marian’ll let you stay in our estate, once we get it back.”

Marian would emphatically _not_ —not unless you counted Anders’ head mounted above the fireplace as a trophy.

Anders was running out of excuses. “Look, Bethany—“

Bethany stopped mere inches away from his frame and folded her arms. “Are you saying I’m not good enough for you?”

_Not at all, but you’ll regret it later, and I fall in love all too easily_ , Anders nearly said. Then he peered closer. In the muddy Darktown lighting, Bethany’s eyes gleamed wet. She sniffed, almost inaudibly, and mulishly jerked up her chin.

Anders knew all about heartbreak at eighteen. He’d been around the same age when Karl had turned him down, for much the same reasons. Afterwards, Anders had pined in the Circle library for weeks, listlessly studying the walls.

He was sharply reminded of that bygone grief now, as Bethany’s lip started to quiver.

“Well?” she demanded shakily. “You’re not even going to say anything?“

“Bethany,” Anders began, “it’s not about you—”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“—it’s about me!” Anders frantically casted about for a way out. “You see, I’m— I’m already taken!”

“You’re lying,” Bethany hiccoughed. “You’re just saying it to make me feel better.”

“I would _never_. I swear the Grey Warden’s oath to you that it’s true.” Grey Wardens had nothing of the sort, but Bethany didn’t need to know that.

“Why you never mentioned it before, then?” she pressed on weakly, half-taken in. “I spend all my time here, and you never said a _word_!”

“I couldn’t,” Anders blurted out. “It’s a secret affair.”

“Can you at least tell me, who—“

Anders tried a confiding smile. “You probably already know.” At least, he hoped so; he certainly hadn’t the faintest idea himself.

Bethany was about to say something, but then her eyes abruptly went wide.

“No way,” she breathed out. “I was so sure Isabela was having me on.”

“Well. She wasn’t.”

“I— I think I get it. He’s always so guarded. Makes sense he would want to keep everything under wraps.”

“Guarded, yes, that’s absolutely him,” Anders fervently agreed. “Now please stop being mad at me.”

“I’m not! I wouldn’t be, no matter what you said.”

_A bit late for that._

“Maker, I feel so stupid now,” Bethany muttered, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“Don’t,” Anders said, not unkindly. “A young judgement is better than no judgement at all.”

Years ago, Wynne had imparted that wisdom to him at the musty corner of the Circle library. He’d thought it a load of griffon’s buttocks at the time.

“That sounds like a load of griffon’s buttocks,” Bethany squinted.

Anders felt both irritation and a vague kind of pride. “Try not to use that kind of language around your sister,” he said.

“I learned most of it from _you_.” Bethany pulled at her scarf in an unconscious gesture. “Are you two good for each other?” she asked quietly. “You and Fenris?”

“Of course we are—“ As fuzzy with relief as he was, it took him a moment to catch on. “Hold on, _who_?”

“You and Fenris,” Bethany repeated. “He’s your mysterious lover, isn’t he?”

“Well—“

“I mean, you already said that it was a man. Varric’s head over heels for Bianca, so it can’t be him. The only other guy in our group is Fenris.” She beamed, clearly pleased with her deductive reasoning.

“How can you be sure it’s not—“

“Anders, we’ve been over it,” Bethany said. “I’m here all the time. Nobody else visits, except for patients.”

_She could’ve put it somewhat more kindly_ , Anders thought, staring back. Then again, Bethany was under impression he had a warm bed and a still warmer smile to fall back onto. _Fenris’_ warm smile.

Worse still, he couldn’t think of a single argument to contradict her.

“Of course it’s Fenris,” he said dully. “Who else could it be?”

“Why keep it secret, then? I’m pretty sure everyone already knows.”

Anders’ blood ran cold. “Let’s not be hasty—“

“They’ll all be happy for you! It doesn’t seem fair, to be the only one who figured it out. And you know how my mouth runs away from me. I’ll spill everything to Marian soon enough, whether I want to or not.”

All conscious thought seemed to have fled from Anders. His brilliant plan was ruined.

“Why don’t we talk about it some other day?” he suggested faintly, two words away from bursting into tears. “It’s late. Your sister will be worrying.”

He barely remembered walking unresisting Bethany to the exit and dousing the lantern; as he was fumbling his way back inside, Bethany, faded to sad grey in the dark, shot him a bewildered look.

Back in the clinic, Anders thumped his forehead against the doorframe and didn’t move for a long, long time. No matter. He was in for an even longer night.

***

Anders passed the night in the agony of indecision. On the one tip of the scales was Bethany’s inevitable disappointment once she learned he spun a story to get her off his back. On the other were Fenris’ literally heart-wrenching ghostly hands. He could always hole up in his clinic and cite an emergency—but then Bethany would learn the truth from someone else, wouldn’t she? A harried, wearing Anders’ guts for a necklace someone else…  

It just had to be Fenris, hadn’t it? Varric, he could’ve sweet-talked into playing along. Isabela would be delighted to put on a show. Andraste’s bosom, _Aveline_ would do better than Fenris!

Really, there was no way around it. At the early hours of the afternoon, Anders left the clinic in the capable hands of Lirene and set out to Lowtown to confess.  

The Hawkes’ house was nestled close to the Alienage. It was infamous among its neighbors for the steady trickle of visitors asking for coin—too many even by the Lowtown standards. Anders suspected roughly half of Marian’s earnings went down the drain of her uncle’s gambling debts.

In the last half-hour alone, three moneylenders came and went. Anders would know; he’d been lurking in an alley across the street for all that time.

Come to think of it, Merrill mentioned a bad case of flu going round the Alienage. He should probably visit—

“Uncle Gamlen’s out! We don’t have any coin—come back tomorrow and ask for my sister!”

The scowling dwarf with a birthmark spat at the porch and stomped away. A familiar face watched his departure out the second-floor window, her bright red scarf fluttering in the breeze.

Bethany moved to shutter the blinds, and her gaze fell across the street.

_Anders?_ she mouthed, surprised.

Anders braced himself and emerged out of the alley, coming to stop under the window.

“How long have you been standing there?” Bethany asked from above, her voice laced with confusion.

“I was just passing through,” Anders lied.

Bethany didn’t look like she entirely believed him.

“Fine, you’re on to me. I’m here for a reason.” Anders took a steadying breath. “I came because of…”

Bethany nodded encouragingly, and her hair frizzed about her face, like a small cloud. She wore her second-best red scarf today, Anders noticed helplessly, the one she’d patched in two spots.

“…Marian,” he finished lamely. “I’m here to see Marian.”

The closer the moment of truth was, the less he felt ready to face the music—never mind that it’d been his own plan all along.

“Is that why you’re so rattled?” Bethany paused. “You are right to be, actually. She’s— cross with you right now.”

“Why would she— Oh. _Oh_.” Anders rubbed his temple. “You could’ve reminded me yesterday, you know.”

Bethany was not allowed to go out into Darktown alone. As well as into Lowtown. And Hightown. And the docks. Kirkwall, according to Marian Hawke, was an extremely dangerous place.

No wonder Hawke’s pissed with him for making Bethany walk home alone last night.

Bethany shifted and ducked out of his sight. “I thought you didn’t want to— you know. Hang around me anymore,” her voice drifted down.

From inside the house, there came the clatter of breaking glass and a string of swearing.

“Bethany,” Anders called. “I’m not mad at you. I _told_ you that I was not mad. If you want to continue helping out at the clinic, that’s fine.”

Bethany leaned out of the window again, much further than before.

“Really? You’ll talk to Marian about it? She’s training the recruits at the Guard Palace, with Fenris and Aveline.” Bethany drummed her fingers on the windowpane. “You’d probably like to see Fenris, too.”

“I really would,” Anders agreed helplessly, feeling his opening for a confession growing tighter with each second. “I’ll probably get going now.”

Bethany chewed on her lip. “You’re still good company, you know. Better than my uncle, at least.”

“The bar has never been set lower,” Anders said wryly, waving goodbye.

He could name four ways to climb out that window off the top of his head. Young people, these days.  

***

Some time later Anders strode across Hightown, mentally rehashing his list of arguments.

Fenris liked Bethany, right? Perhaps, with the right incentive, he could be persuaded to play into this little act. Anders would promise not to utter another word about magic in his presence, ever.

He planned it all out nicely already. A couple of weeks later they’d have a vocal, public break-up. Fenris’d get the chance to slap him across the face. A win-win situation for everyone.

Also, Justice could shove it. He was welcome to find himself another host if he felt like it, but he _would not_ step between Anders and his imaginary love life.  

The guard at the Keep entrance was humming the Canticle of Threnodies under his breath. If Anders had felt any vestigial respect for the Chantry, he would’ve covered his ears and fled, which was, presumably, a sign of a guard job well done.

“Here, I decree—what was it—opposition in all things. Or something. For earth, sky, for winter, summer, for night… Shit, what was that again?”

“Light,” Anders supplied helpfully. “And it’s not ‘night’, it’s ‘darkness’.”

He liked setting other people right. His study group at the Circle had loathed him with a passion. The traitors had cheered whenever he’d been dragged back after his latest escape and forced to make up for all the material he’d missed. As if the actual punishment hadn’t been bad enough.

Unfortunately, it seemed his lot in life was to remain ridiculed and unappreciated.

“What do you mean, I can’t go in?”

“Civilians are allowed inside by appointment only,” the guard monotoned. He had a sprig of parsley stuck in his moustache, Anders noticed with a rush of vindictiveness.

“I have an appointment!” he protested.

“Oh, yeah?” The guard fumbled with his pockets and fished out a scruffy piece of parchment. “What’s your name?”

“Jim. Jimmy to friends.”

“And last name?”   

Anders attempted to peek over at the parchment. The guard scowled. The parsley in his moustache twitched alarmingly.

“Look,” Anders tried the other angle. “I’m not here to do business, all right? I just need to speak with someone. White hair, tattoos, big soulful eyes—rings a bell?”

“Serrah Fenris has been scheduled for his weekly appointment with Guard Vallen. The appointment you _do not have_. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Anders screwed his eyes tightly shut. And the day was shaping up so nicely, too. 

“Can I at least pass Fenris a note?” he asked, at his wit’s end.

_Dear Fenris,_

_This is NOT one of my Manifestos. Please read to the end!!!!_

_I might’ve had an itty-bitty accident. More of a misunderstanding, really. Let me stress that this is in no way my fault. Sometimes things just happen, you know?_

_Anyway, I told Bethany that you and I were dating because I wanted to spare her feelings._

_~~You have to~~ _

_~~Will you consider~~ _

_~~Do you think Andraste would~~ _

_Please, help._

_~~Lots of lov~~ _ _~~your frie~~    ~~acquainta~~_

_Anders_

That would do, Anders decided, messily scribbling his signature down. He’d pulled off worse plans, back in his younger days.

That would have to do.  

***

The evening was dark as pitch, and Anders stumbled twice on his way up the unlit stairs of the Hanged Man. The door to the Varric’s suite stood open; most of the gang had already gathered inside, in various stages of inebriation and undress. Merrill and Varric were building a paper boat out of the Merchant Guild’s letters. Isabela kept lazily shuffling cards. The Hawke sisters crowded at the table corner, with Bethany half-heartedly poking at her stew.

“Anders, you get a second strike,” said Hawke in lieu of greeting, sloppily saluting him with a bottle. “You know what you did.”

Anders fiddled with his coat buckle. “What happens after a third strike?” he asked. He harbored a well-warranted mistrust for phrases like “last strike” and “final warning”.

“Now, we won’t let it come to that, will we?”

Anders vowed that they wouldn’t. “Any jobs for me?” he asked instead, taking a seat. “The donations have been tight lately.”

“Nothing safe enough for a mage. You are still watching Bethany, though—until the market day, at least. I’m going away to Sundermount.”

“Sister!” Bethany jerked up her head from the stew bowl. “You’re not _paying_ him to do that, are you?”

“Of course not. But you’re helping him out at the clinic, right? It’s not like you’re useless.”

“I could babysit Bethany too, you know,” Isabela piped in, tipping her chair up on two legs. “The last time I looked after her, we had such a bonding experience—your sister’s a treasure.”

“You mean you took her to a rat-fighting pit. And then to a tavern,” Marian said flatly.

“Oh, but we had so much fun!” Isabela pouted. “I take her to _one_ tavern, and suddenly I’m the irresponsible one?”

“I liked it in the rat pit,” Merrill chirped from the corner. “It was very exciting.”

“Not to mention, we’re all in a tavern _right now_ , Hawke,” Varric added good-naturedly, folding a paper sail.

Marian frowned. “It doesn’t count if she’s with me.”

“Sweet thing, listen—“

“Where’s Fenris?” Anders blurted out.

A hesitant hope bloomed inside him. Fenris never ran late. Maybe he felt too exhausted to play cards? Got held up in the Keep? Grew too disgusted with Anders to ever come near him again?

“Fenris’s getting us the drinks,” Marian said. Then she smiled.

Hairs on Anders’ neck stood on end. 

“That reminds me,” she went on, brightly. “I heard the most wonderful news about you two today.”

“Did you now,” Anders said.

Hawke grinned wider. She had a pleasant smile—didn’t even need any of her teeth pulled out, unlike most Anders’ patients.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Isabela asked, shamelessly tucking the Knight of Dawn into her boot. “Our boys are having a clandestine, passionate love affair behind our backs?”

Marian nodded sagely. “That’s more or less the gist of it.”

There was pin-drop silence. Varric’s sail made a gurgling splash as it landed into an inkpot.

“Is this another human joke I didn’t get?” Merrill asked at last.

“No!” Hawke thumped her hands on the table in delight. “Congratulations to the happy couple!”

Varric started mopping the ink-stained papers with his sleeve. “Blondie, any particular reason we never heard about your whirlwind romance before?”

“We, um,” Anders cleared his throat; Bethany sent him an encouraging look. “We wanted to keep things under wraps. You know how Fenris is. What did he have to say about it, by the way?”

“I wanted to get you both together first.” Marian leaned over the table. “It must’ve been so hard on you. Imagine how _excited_ Fenris will be to finally open up about his sentimental side to his friends!”

Anders never lacked for imagination. In his mind, he pictured Fenris fuming, furious, calling his bluff—or, worse, _disappointed_ , like Bethany would be…

“What is that about my sides? Did Isabela start a new guessing game?” Fenris appeared in the doorway, careful not to upset the tray in his hands. Anders’ spindleweed tea was steaming beside a pyramid of ale mugs: either Fenris found himself in a generous mood, or else the tea was poisoned.

“I would _never_ ,” Isabela said, pressing her hand to her heart. An Angel of Charity disappeared into her cleavage. “I don’t fool around with taken men, darling. You should’ve told me.”

Fenris’ resting scowl slowly morphed into a bewildered one. “What are you on about?” he asked, thumping the tray onto the table.

“Anders’ feelings for you, of course,” Marian said. “He was telling us all about it, just now.”

Fenris huffed. “Do I even want to know?”

“You already do,” Anders said, an edge creeping into his voice. “It’s _love_.”

There was a loaded pause. Fenris’ face twitched.

“I— didn’t know that,” he said carefully.

“Oh!” Merrill stage-gasped, her eyes going wide. “Did Anders just confess his love in front of everyone?”

“That’s right. Anders _did_ ,” Anders said through gritted teeth.

“Is this a—“

“Merrill thought he was joking,” Isabela confided. “I’ve never felt so thrilled about her being wrong!”

Fenris held himself still. “And you are pefectly serious. Obviously,” he said. His voice went very strange.

“Well?” Marian prompted, never losing her lunatic grin. “A coin for your thoughts?”

The last traces of a scowl fled from Fenris’ face. He shot Anders a skittish look, but as soon as their eyes locked, pretended he was just sweeping his gaze over the room. 

_Come on_ , Anders wrung his hands under the table, _Don’t be a bastard, just this one time, don’t—_

“I have never— Anders is a skilled man. To have him by our side is worthwhile. He has— good intentions,” Fenris said in a rush. Then he dragged his chair next to Anders and resolutely sat down, his expression wiped blank.

Anders could kiss him. Never in his life had he’d thought Fenris to prove such a trusty and loyal companion. Granted, his acting could use some improvement, but Anders didn’t have the luxury to judge.

It was Fenris, for Maker’s sake—Anders wouldn’t expect him to spin a midnight serenade or leave flowers at Anders’ doorstep. Suspension of disbelief could only go so far.

Varric lowly whistled. “I’ll be damned, elf. Well, as long as Blondie’s open about his _intentions_ towards you—”

“Oh, look! We’ve embarassed him!” Isabela cooed. Bethany swatted her on the arm.

Fenris looked two quips away from bolting out the door.

“Now that the cat is out of the bag, can we _finally_ start playing?” Isabela tapped the cards. Over the last half an hour, the deck grew visibly thinner. “I have high hopes for tonight—winning back my necklace from Varric, for one.”

“Dream on, Rivaini. It brings out my chest hair.” Varric began to slide ale mugs across the table. One clipped Marian on the elbow, but she barely seemed to notice.

“Wasn’t Fenris going to open up about his sentimental side to us?” Merrill asked. “I’d like to see it.”

Marian came to herself and forcibly wrenched the cards away from Isabela. “Give him some time,” she advised, at the same time as Fenris said, “Over my dead body”.

He kept sending Anders sharp, quick glances. Anders winked at him conspiratorially over the tea mug. _It’s awfully nice of you to back me up, but could you maybe put in a tiny bit more effort next time?_ the wink was meant to convey.

Now, Fenris openly stared.

Anders winked again, slowly and more deliberately, in case Fenris didn’t get the message.

Fenris studied him for a moment before seemingly coming to a decision. Hesitantly, he gave Anders a brief nod. Anders leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

Sometimes he couldn’t believe how clever he was.

***  

“Where did you get the flowers?” Bethany asked.

Anders spared a glance for a bouquet of embrium, stuck in an empty brewing flask on his desk.

“Fenris brought them in,” he said. Probably. Hopefully. Anders couldn’t think of anyone else who might leave fresh flowers on his doorstep. Not that it made much sense for Fenris to do it—in the dead of the night, with nobody around to watch—but who even knew with him. Perhaps he was getting into character?

No amount of embrium could overpower the rancid smell of the sewers, but it was the thought that counted. Bethany, for what it’s worth, kept edging closer to the bouquet the whole morning.

“Now, can you name the three healing properties of embrium for me?” he asked, stooped over a bubbling cough mixture.

Bethany absently chewed on her quill. “Sure. First of all, embrium is known to cure lung sickness…”

“That’s right. Half an hour from now, these flowers are going into the pot. What else?”

“Um. Taken internally, the roots help with an upset stomach?”

“Very good,” Anders nodded. “Just one more.”

Sometime during their quiz, Fenris had wandered in and now loitered near the entrance, shifting from foot to foot. He seemed to settle into the part of a doting lover with surprising enthusiasm—Anders would need to send the elf a gift basket after their pretend break-up was over.

Andraste’s sagging jawline, Fenris even set foot into the clinic of his own volition; the last time he’d graced the place with his presence, Hawke had to drag him in by his infected arm. Fenris had cursed his way through the treatment; Lirene’d done the stitches. Needless to say, Anders was not keen on repeating the experience.

Lately, though, the elf held himself perfectly civil. Catching his eye, Anders gestured at one of the cots and then towards the fruit crate the Carta had sent in earlier this morning. Fenris quirked up his mouth, folding his hands behind his back.

Anders smiled back. That’s what you were supposed to do in a relationship. Right? Right.

“Boil the embrium petals, and then inhale the fumes to cure even the strongest headache,” Bethany recited, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

“Correct. These embrium flowers have a scarlet tint to them—that’s not always the case. The next time we’ll go to the Wounded Coast, I’ll point out some of the other possible variations to you.”

“If Marian ever lets me go,” Bethany sighed. Then her face brightened. “Say, Anders, do you remember any other stories about your break-outs from the Tower?”

“Don’t tell me he’s been trying to recruit you,” Fenris said. For the sake of their budding relationship, Anders elected to ignore him.

“Oh, it’s not that,” Bethany shifted her eyes about. “He’s just— fun to listen to. That’s all.”

“Let’s see.” Anders tapped his spoon against the pot. “Have I ever told you about my first and a half escape attempt?”

Bethany shook her head, leaning forward. Fenris fixed him with a weary look, but kept his silence.

“Well, I was somewhat smaller at the time—small enough to fit in all the best hiding places. So I thought, why not smuggle myself out? Except that was easier said than done. Food and novice mages were often brought in, but then they rarely got _out_ again. I started to think, and eventually it hit me—you could always count on one thing to find its way out of the Circle.”

Bethany scrunched up her nose. “Remedies?” she hazarded. “Books?”

“Coffins,” said Fenris. His face was unreadable.

“Exactly! We didn’t have enough room for a proper funeral pyre at the Tower—and nobles preferred to set their offspring on fire themselves, anyway—so all… _recent acquisitions_ got put in stasis and then shipped off to the mainland in bulk.” Anders snapped his fingers. “So I thought, why not keep them company? _They_ wouldn’t object to my presence, at least.”

Bethany’s hands twisted in her blouse, but Anders was already too caught up in the story.

“I wouldn’t have had too much time to poke around, so I needed to pick a fellow passenger beforehand—someone small enough to allow for some wiggle room, but also no one that I knew too well. Now, this was supposed to be the _easy_ part. The Templars kept a list of the newly deceased they were meant to dispose of that month—I had to snog Sir Launcel to sneak a peek, but it was worth it. Or would be worth it. You see, I couldn’t find anyone _suitable_ on the list. Instead, there was that lummox Arnold, who always ate for three, and Nissa, who attended herbology classes with me for two years, so she would make for an uncomfortable ride. For me, anyway. The only one who even remotely fit the bill was Grace, and Grace hadn’t even died yet! She was due for her Harrowing that week, but nobody thought she would make it, so Sir Greagoir put her on the list ahead of time.”

Bethany’s smile had long collapsed into a troubled look. Fenris, by contrast, scooted closer across the cot, his eyes locked on Anders’ face. Acting on an impulse, Anders winked at him.

“And then there was the fourth guy—Jimmy, according to the list. Except I didn’t _know_ anyone by that name. So I asked all my friends, and they asked their friends—still, no luck. No one in the Tower had ever heard of him! I found a Jeremy, eventually, but he insisted on being referred to as Bann Southmere, and was fit as a fiddle. An unlikely candidate, to say the least.”

“Who was he, then?” Fenris demanded to know.

“Patience! Good things come to those who wait. Until then, it was like our Jimmy didn’t even exist. I resolved to stick to Grace and hope for the best. Well, for the worst. Only when the big day came, guess what happened—Grace passed her Harrowing! Not that we weren’t happy for her, of course, but that left me all out of options, except for this Jimmy fellow nobody ever _spoke to_.”   

Fenris tipped his head to the side. “I assume you did not give up.”

“Just who do you take me for? I packed all my stuff already. Pocketed an Andraste statuette for my mom. It was Jimmy, or no one—of course, I decided to go with Jimmy. Technically, I’d been put on kitchen duty that night, but a teensy fire in the pantry took care of that. While everyone else was distracted, I snuck out and—“

“You resorted to _arson_ in your escape?” Fenris broke in, scandalized.

“Oh, please,” Anders scowled. “The kitchen was cordoned off the living area—nobody got hurt.”

Bethany jerkily pulled at her scarf. “Is that all you need, then, for an escape?” she asked, seemingly lost in thought. “To stage a distraction?”

“You forgot about the lock picking. I didn’t learn _that_ until my fourth escape, though, and that’s an entirely different story.”

Fenris tapped his foot impatiently.

“Fine, fine! There I was, stealing about the sleeping Tower. It wasn’t too difficult to find the coffins—they were stacked close to the Apprentice Quarters, as usual. The guards had all stepped out to deal with the fire, so I had a couple of minutes to myself. Jimmy’s coffin, with his name on it, had been put apart from the rest. Hastily, I prized the lid open, and saw—“

“Another stowaway!” Bethany burst out, at the same time as Fenris gritted, “A demon.”

“—No body at all! There wasn’t even a toenail worth of Jimmy in there. Just rows upon rows of lyrium vials packed in straw.”

He gave them both time to mull it over. “So, ‘Jimmy’ was merely a ruse?” Fenris asked.

“That’s right. Poor Jimmy was a front some of the senior Templars used to smuggle out extra rations of lyrium. And then it was all, ‘No, there won’t be any advanced courses this year, because we don’t have enough lyrium to go around for all of you.’ Maker, I wonder whose fault is that?”

“Did you still go through with the plan?” Bethany asked, seemingly out of politeness. She’d already tugged an entire string from her blouse loose.

“That would’ve been too risky—even by my standards. No, I came straight to the First Enchanter’s quarters, and snitched on the entire scheme. No one got sacked, of course, but I heard one or two wretches actually had to go in retirement. Entirely worth it. I got a commendation from Irving, for my _vigilance_.” Anders sighed wistfully. “Afterwards, they always nailed the coffins shut, though.”

He sized his audience up with a glance. “I can’t help but notice, neither of you looks very entertained.”

“Perhaps this is because you promised a _funny_ story to us, mage?” Fenris asked sardonically.

“It is funny!” Anders protested, ruffling up his pauldrons. “Everyone in the Circle loved it—who knows, maybe we mages just have a superior sense of humor.”

“I don’t think it’s funny, either,” Bethany said quietly.

“You both are clearly unworthy of my storytelling talent,” Anders declared, rifling through the drawers for some empty vials. He cast a covert glance at the flowers. “You’re here to walk Bethany home then, Fenris? Or did you come to enjoy the pleasure of my company?”

“Both. I am to accompany Bethany to the market tomorrow. I—“ Fenris visibly swallowed, “wished to invite you along.”

“I’m sick of staying at Fenris’ mansion when Marian’s away,” Bethany said, stretching her arms. “He makes me practice dagger-throwing. For _self-defense_.”

Anders himself had never set foot inside Fenris’ mansion—his imagination had only hazy images of candelabras and lion-pawed furniture to work with. Wrapped up in guessing the color of Fenris’ curtains, he reached towards embrium and a cutting knife.

“Won’t Fenris be upset at you? For ruining his flowers?” Bethany shook him out of his daze.

Anders blinked, and huffed out a laugh. “Whatever for? Fenris should be proud. He brought me something useful.”

In the corner, Fenris was plainly trying to smother a smile.

A pity. He looked so sweet when he smiled, after all.

***

Anders loved the Lowtown on market day. It reminded him of the first time he rode into Denerim, his mind fresh with the memory of his Harrowing; of the celebration the Amaranthine citizens threw in honor of the Grey Wardens; of stray minstrels, sometimes spending the night in his bleak, remote hometown.

Here, everyone had a good time, unconditionally, and nobody was afraid.

Among many-colored crowds and banners, Fenris’ jaunty outfit stuck out like an eyesore. He was eyeing the fruit cart with an air of someone only passingly familiar with the Free Marches’ cuisine. He’d kept his spiked gloves on.

“Anders! Over here!” That was Bethany, waving a candied apple over Fenris’ shoulder. When his date didn’t look up at once, she elbowed him in the side. Anders slightly envied her audacity.

Fenris’ mouth quirked up as he finally met Anders’ gaze. “We’ve been browsing through the clothing stalls to pass the time,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Some feather hats there have caught my eye—you’d look striking in one, I believe.”

Normally this would be the point where Anders acerbically pointed out Fenris’ distinctively Tevene fashion sense, Fenris retaliated with an insult, and they’d wind up in a huge public row. _We can’t do that_ , Anders reminded himself, counting to twelve inside his head. _We are in love_. _Fenris and I are desperately in love._

“That sounds nice,” he said, keeping his tone pleasant. “I hope they are matching my coat—a mage needs to keep the look balanced, you know.”

“Of course. I checked,” Fenris deadpanned. If he believed he had a free pass to mock Anders to his heart’s content… He was right.

Well. Two people could play this game.

“Shall we?” Anders pressed his hip into Fenris’. “It’d be a shame if I ended up without a hat, now—after all the _consideration_ you showed me…”

He reached out and vindictively grasped Fenris’ hand. _You started it_ , he conveyed with a sickly-sweet smile. _Now you’ll have to suffer through my company for the entire afternoon._

Fenris went red, and Anders’ hand promptly got crushed in a death grip. He didn’t mind. That would show Fenris. _Bethany’s still here,_ he stressed with a coy glance. _You can’t shake me off._

Fenris cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d best wait for us here,” he nodded to Bethany. “Take care to stay in our line of sight.”

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Off with you, then. I need to pick up groceries, anyway.”

They started towards a narrow row of stalls, bypassing the chattering elven servants with baskets.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t choke on a cherry pit while we’re gone,” Anders said, craning his neck around. “Marian’ll skin us alive. Also, don’t let go of me yet.” It would be just like Bethany to seek them out instead of enjoying her brief bout of freedom.

“I do not intend to,” Fenris shot back with an impassive face. _Do you consider me stupid?_ Anders translated from Fenris-speak.

They turned into the clothing section, weaving around the rack of Rivaini scarves. The conversation lapsed. _Five minutes on a pretend date and we’re already at each other’s throats_ , Anders thought gloomily. At this rate, Bethany would see through them in a heartbeat. As soon as she stepped back from that apple cart, for instance.

“Look, I’m— sorry about all of this.” He wearily dragged his free hand over his face. “I know you’re not my biggest fan—you don’t even _like_ me—but…”

Fenris stopped short. “Why would I be here if I disliked you?” he asked incredulously.

Anders shrugged. “Pity?”

Fenris’ face expressed an emotion. It was a spectacular sight. A pile-up of purple hats rustled at the edge of their visions.

“I suppose I haven’t made myself clear. Anders.” He cringed. Anders was abruptly reminded of all the teeth he’d pulled out in his lengthy medical career. “Emotions are not— my strong suit.”

“Now, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Anders said. “The flowers were a nice touch. Bethany doesn’t think anything is amiss.”

“She wouldn’t. She is young.” Fenris glared at the misshapen sunhat with a clump of peacock feathers on the brim. “I confess that I am— not entirely certain what a relationship might entail.”

“Well, aren’t we a pair of losers,” Anders said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Fenris looked startled. “I thought—“

Nobody said Karl’s name aloud, yet it hung over them both, like a despair demon over one’s shoulder.

“It was a Circle. We had to be discreet.” Anders absently stroked a peacock feather. “There wasn’t much room for sunny strolls in the market hand in hand.”

Fenris stared at their joined hands. Then he looked up with a small frown.

“Where’s Bethany?”

The apple cart toppled over with a resounding crash. Fruit spilt all over the cobblestones. Someone slipped up and rammed into a wine rack. In the midst of chaos, a horse started whinnying. Bethany was nowhere in sight.

“Staging a distraction, I believe,” Anders said, mentally reassessing a bundle’s worth of conversations.

“ _You_ put her up to this?” Fenris hissed, dropping his hand as if scalded.

Justice, paired up with his conscience, didn’t let Anders protest. “She can hold her own, Fenris,” he said, instead. “She is _a mage_.”

“Exactly. What if the Templars—“

Anders pointedly rose an eyebrow, and Fenris cut himself off with an angry blush.

“ _You_ ’ll be explaining yourself to Marian if anything happens,” he said, settling into a disgruntled slouch.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t trust you to back me up, anyway.”

Fenris looked up, startled. “I did not mean— We’ll settle everything together,” he amended hastily. “Not that we’ll have to. Bethany will be fine.” Then he reached out and took Anders’ hand again.

Anders frowned. Bethany wasn’t here—there was no need for pretense.

Then again, she could return any moment. Some other mutual acquaintance might spy them. It never hurt to be careful, he decided, clasping Fenris’ hand tighter.

***

“Blooming Rose!” Marian shrieked. “I’ve combed the entirety of Kirkwall, and your uncle finds you in the blighted _Blooming Rose_! How did he even know to look—”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what he came there for,” Bethany muttered darkly.

“Don’t interrupt me!”

“Sweet thing,” Isabela stepped forward, her hands held up. “We’ve been telling you for ages to let the girl loose for a day or two—“

Marian whipped around, like a woman possessed. “You were in on this, too?”

Anders’ attempt to blend in with the wall was failing spectacularly—he blamed Fenris, for shimmering faintly at his side. Anyone had yet to accuse them of anything, but these sorts of conclusions rarely took long to be made.

He would’ve chosen Marian’s disappointed face over her running in circles around Bethany’s seat, any day.

“Isabela’s right. I can’t even remember the last time I had fun. Maybe not since my powers manifested.” Bethany was listlessly studying the water-stained ceiling.

“It’s not my job to provide you with entertainment—it’s to keep you safe.”

“That’s curious. I thought your job was to kill people for coin.”

Anders’ disquiet grew with each passing second. On the bright side, everyone save for Fenris seemed to forget about their existence. The Hawkes’ household was crowded with unexpected shadows. What’s one more?

“If Carver were here,” Bethany said, “he wouldn’t let you treat him like this.”

“Well, he is _not_ here,” Marian snapped. “He’s dead. Do you want to end up like him? Then, by all means, go on.” She sucked in a breath. “How did you even come up with this ridiculous idea…”

In the short silence that followed, everyone’s eyes fell on Anders.

“This is not his fault,” Fenris started hotly.

“I really need to get back to my clinic,” Anders said, and escaped.

***

Varric eyed Anders over his reading glasses. “Let me get this straight. You decided to fake a relationship with _Fenris_ , of all people, because you didn’t have the guts to turn down an eighteen-year-old?”

Anders shifted from foot to foot. “Yes?”

“Well, what do you need me for? Obviously, you’re the master storyteller here, not me.”

“Please tell me how to get out of this,” Anders said, in a small voice.

Varric finally put his book down. His expression settled somewhere between pained and amused.

“Blondie, you’ve been here last month. You’ve met Bianca. Now, put your hand over your heart and tell me I seem like a good adviser in love matters to you.”

“Nobody said anything about _love_ ,” Anders said.

Varric smiled thinly. “Funny. You could’ve fooled me.”

***

“Marian’s speaking to me again,” Bethany said to him one night, closing the latch on a pigeon cage.

They’d been working long after hours. After the last patient had shambled out of the clinic, Anders put Bethany to healing some street birds he’d caught. It was a good practice—for a city that was seemingly devoid of cats, Kirkwall pigeons sported an impressive array of blemishes, sores and missing body parts.   

“I think she’s been warming up to you, too,” Bethany went on, with a sidelong glance.

Anders hummed noncommitally. The only reason he’d been spared Marian’s infamous third strike were his mentoring skills; if nobody was left to teach Bethany magic, she’d end up throwing daggers at Fenris’ mansion for all eternity.

Bethany trailed her fingertips along the cage bars. “Mother says the Amells have a memorial wall at the Chantry. We’ll probably put up Carver’s plaque there, right after the expedition.”

“Not your father’s?”

Bethany snorted without much humor. “The Chantry can tolerate either a mage, or a commoner. Not both at once.” She squinted. “Say, my mother once told me how dad scaled down the Tower wall, to take her to a masquerade party. Have you done anything like that?”

“Sure.” Anders threw a black cloth over the cage and strapped it to his back. “My third escape attempt. I braided a rope out of dirty linen and climbed out the window. The trick is to tie the knots so—“ He cut himself off and eyed Bethany closely. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know. Fun.”                            

They set the pigeons free outside the Hawkes’ house. The birds, unlike some, weren’t thrilled with their sudden liberation. Anders had to upend their cage and rattle it, before the last one deigned to tumble out.

“Next time, use your brains, blasted fade monkeys!” he yelled after them, as the pigeons grudgingly flapped away.

“Are you talking to yourself again?” a deep voice inquired behind him. “All the gangs in the neighborhood are now aware of your location, I suspect.”

Anders pivoted on his heel. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him, his features brightened by the lamplight.

“You are working late tonight. I decided to wait up.”

“Is that Marian’s new rule? The feckless mage is not to be trusted on his own?”

“The feckless mage needs someone to walk him back home after dark. Not everything is about Marian, Anders.”

Anders’ heart skipped a beat; he cursed it inwardly. Fenris and he had never gotten around to discuss their impending break-up. Somehow, there were always better things to do. 

“Worried about me, are you?” he teased, his voice wobbling on the first word.

“I am.”

Bethany made a gagging noise. “Worse than my parents,” she muttered. “I’m going to bed.”

The front door banged shut behind her. Anders barely noticed.

“It _is_ late,” he said, chewing on his lip. Fenris was very close, and showed no intention of stepping away. “Too late to go the whole way back to Darktown.”  

Fenris scalded him with his gaze. His tattoos flashed once in the half-dark.

“My mansion is closer,” he said.

It didn’t feel close enough. Anders walked like a man in a dream. Fenris’ lantern swung back and forth on its pole, casting strange shadows across his face.

“My bedroom is upstairs,” Fenris said on the doorstep. For a short time, Anders grew very excited, but as they passed a series of dusty moonlit halls, complete with cracked tile floors, it gradually dawned on him—Fenris’ bedroom was simply the only habitable room in the mansion.

A heavy bedside candlestick flared up under Fenris’ hands. He remained frozen in place, studying the ill-lit room. _He doesn’t know why I’m here any more than I do_ , Anders realized with a sinking feeling.

He sat in one of the two faded armchairs, raising a cloud of fine dust. Fenris stubbornly stared at his feet.

“That’s a nice tapestry over there,” Anders said before silence could smash in his eardrums.

“Danarius bought it at Quarn. It cost him two slaves.”

“Oh.” Anders desperately cast his eyes about the room. There, on the table, lay something—

“You like reading?” he asked, peering closer at the book title. “I do, too. There was a huge library in the Circle, and— Is that _Sister Justinia’s ABC book_?” he blurted out, his mouth ten steps ahead of his brain.

Fenris curled in on himself. Anders’ back began to throb just from looking at his slouch. “Marian left it here after our reading lesson,” he said.

“A reading lesson?” Anders echoed. Some thought tugged at his brain.

“You heard me.”

“You— don’t know how to read.”

Fenris bristled. “And you thought that slaves receive a first-rate education, I suppose? Laugh at me all you want—“

“Maker’s breath, Fenris, that’s not it!” Anders protested, pulling at his coat. “It’s only— I left you a note recently…”

The cogs in his mind went into overdrive. It abruptly occurred to him that he’d misjudged the situation very badly.  

Not that he particularly minded.

Fenris’ posture eased slightly, now that Anders showed no inclination to gloat at his expense. “At the Viscount’s Keep? Marian read it for me—do not trouble yourself over it.”

Anders’ blood ran cold. “ _Marian_ read it? All of it?”

“She related to me its contents. I did not _need_ any recuperation advice—my arm’s been fine since you healed it, but—“ He fell silent for a bit. “I did not show you much gratitude, at the time. It was— surprising, to receive your note. I didn’t expect you to repay my brash words with such kindness.”

Anders didn’t, either. Right now, he was amazed at his own generosity. 

“Where’s this note now?” he demanded in a tight voice.

“I kept it,” Fenris said, his brow furrowed. “I am not yet able to read it, but—“

“Give it to me,” Anders cut him off. “It’s rubbish. I’ll write you a new one.”

Then Anders stalked across the room and kissed him. Fenris huffed out a surprised laugh; his arms came up around Anders, and everything else was forgotten for a while.

Sod it all. There was still room under his Manifesto.

***

“I’m back!” Anders called out, closing the clinic door behind himself.

He caught sight of a familiar sword propped against the wall, and allowed himself a private smile. Lately, Fenris had started letting himself in. He had no need for a key, but Anders gave him one, anyway. 

“Good evening,” Fenris greeted him from where he was lounging at Anders’ writing desk with his feet up.

“Had fun without me?” Anders asked absent-mindedly, pulling fresh-picked elfroot out of his bag.

“Depends. I did discover something interesting, though.”

“Oh?” Anders dearly hoped it hadn’t been his personal Grey Warden ale bottle. He still held on to it as a reminder of his happier days with the Order. 

“If you truly believe you are not destined for love and happiness, then you are a fool, Anders.”

Slowly, very slowly, he turned around. Fenris regarded him with a raised eyebrow. _The List_ was tightly clasped in his hand, high enough for Anders to see.

“On a side note, you’re overestimating Marian’s torturing skills. I’m not sure she knows what an Antivan necktie is.”

Anders was choking on his words. “Where— what— how did you get this?”

“I wished to practice my reading skills on your Manifesto. It lay underneath.”

“Was it— the only thing that you found?” Anders stuttered out, remembering the ill-fated letter that had never found its recipient—until today.

“No.”

Anders swallowed back tears, but only barely. _The truth always comes to light_ , a whisper came at the edge of his mind, and he couldn’t tell Justice’s voice from his own. It was all his fault, really. Whatever did he expect—

“It was very thoughtful of you to keep that old prescription for my arm,” Fenris went on with a straight face. “Nevermind that it was, as you said, _rubbish_.” 

Anders blinked. He couldn’t quite believe his ears. “I tried to be better since. I told you.”

Fenris snorted. “A wise man would’ve burned it long ago, Anders,” he said, finally breaking into a grin.

Anders tentatively smiled in return, and, for once, they understood each other perfectly.

“What can I say? I can’t escape my sentimental side,” he replied.


End file.
